Divergent
by fakeituntilyoumakeit
Summary: AU; It is Jasper that escapes with Charlotte, not Peter. Jasper/Charlotte.


**"_Every fairytale has a bloody lining."_**

**_-Alice Hoffman_**

* * *

Chapter One: Jasper/Charlotte

The first time he sees her, she isn't looking her best. Maria's dragged her back here to feed off of, but he's feeling particularly sore after today's training. He's lounging, checking over his naked body for new scars and whatnot, nursing his wounds when Maria rushes in with a bleeding body in her arms. At first, a moment of disgust seizes him because the girl is tiny, and he assumes it to be a child. All he can see is pale skin and long pale hair and suddenly big blue eyes open and a cherry mouth widens in a scream that hurts his sensitive ears.

He realizes it's not a child, but a very small woman.

That doesn't stop Maria from tearing into her throat, causing the screams to choke in the woman's throat. Her arms flail, an elbow jerking but it's nowhere near enough to break Maria's hold on her. When the scent of tantalizing fresh blood tickles his throat, he goes right along with Maria and bites into the girl; trying to ignore the utter terror emitted from the woman.

When Maria growls at him, and tears the girl from his lips; he suddenly understands.

She's going to turn her.

Its five days later, and the woman is a force to be reckoned with. Her name turns out to be Charlotte, but Jasper never acknowledges her, as he does to the others. When Peter asks him, he brushes it off, feigning disinterest when he is hyper-aware of the curve of her breasts beneath her dress, or the shimmering of her skin in the pale moonlight that night in the barn, or the quickness of her words and the sharpness of her predators gaze.

He thinks that maybe he could have loved her, had he met her while they were human. Had their meeting been under the circumstances of his old life. He would have courted her, would have stolen a kiss under the shade of the sweet smelling honeysuckle bushes on his family plantation.

But this is no fairytale – she's no princess, and he's certainly not a Prince.

He's scarred – both inside and outside – and bloody and carrying the weight of dead vampires, and feeling the emotions of hundreds of individuals, and he already has Maria, and this is love isn't it? Fierce and angry and harsh and bloody kisses on his neck and smart eyes scraping over fresh scars.

But she could have been a Princess, he thinks. She could have – with white hair in the night, and rosy lips and skin as creamy as maidens that inspired the romantic tales written so very long ago. She's soft, but stubborn in the way women of the south often are. Her voice is a twang of girlishness and her demeanor's not of a ruthless killer like nature dictates she ought to be. He berates himself sometimes, when he's all alone, that he couldn't save her from this life. A creature of such qualities is not meant to be a creature of the night, feeding on the blood of innocents and hiding from the sunlight that once bounced off sunny locks.

The night she murders a child changes that.

He finds her huddled up, curved around the body of a young girl. He chides himself for the concern that grips him. She's a newborn – feral, dominant, and _expendable. _The child has no heartbeat to speak of while Charlotte rocks her back and forth, back and forth. He toys with the idea of walking away, yet feels as though his feet are stuck to the pavement. She doesn't look at him, but the stiffening of her spine tells him she's aware of his stoic presence behind her. From previous experience, physical comfort usually encourages a feral reaction, so Jasper simply stands over her like an unmoving sentry, guarding her from the terrors of the world while her moment of innocence endures. He remains for countless hours, until the murderess stops her motions and drops the body to the ground with a trembling sense of detachment.

She does not speak to him, nor does she dare to glance at him while they find their way back to the others. Though feelings are exchanged, and thanks given the next morning, when Jasper's stare isn't quite as cold when it reaches her, and her fingers linger a moment too long on his. Maria doesn't worry herself – newborns are affectionate and often felt romantically attached towards their masters, or in Jasper's case, to those who represented the master.

Yet, the look in Jaspers eyes speaks volumes. When they fuck the following night, it's loud, rough, possessive, and she marks him _overandover _with her teeth, her lips, her hands.

The next morning, Jasper refuses to even glance at Charlotte, and she pretends not to notice.

They do not speak, and eternity keeps rushing forwards. They dance around each other, hands to themselves. Pretending becomes their new favourite sport. Charlotte pretends she doesn't feel an odd loss at his absence, pretends not to notice his lingering glances, not to fret over his freshest scars. Jasper pretends to be unaffected by the power of her emotions, the slant of her lips, her lingering scent in the air.

And so the game goes on until the finale arrives, and Jasper has to make a choice. He's with Peter – a swift, iron-willed newborn who reminds him of himself – dispatching the newborns that Maria has deemed unfit or useless to her cause. The faces begin to blur together as they always do, when suddenly Charlotte's face joins the mix and everything is suddenly terrifying clear. He stands frozen for a moment, his mind racing to catch up to reality, when he sees Peter move towards her and suddenly Peter is flying through the air and he has Charlotte by the hand, and they're running like wild through the woods and over fields until they've gone so far that he can smell the ocean.

They turn to face each other, dazzling in the moonlight, and Charlotte says only one word. "Why?"

He responds by gathering her in his arms, and kissing her until she returns his fervor and they're _free. _Rolling in the sand together, kissing, grabbing, moaning, smiling, feeling_, _and _loving_. In the aftermath, with Charlotte in his arms playing idly with a lock of his hair, he wonders about the sudden depth of his emotions but then Charlotte rolls on top of him and his doubts are once again forgotten.

They travel, and feed, and discover together while the world passes them by. They get married on a whim, by a drunken priest in New York City in the late seventies, though both of them know it only a formality. They're already promised each other forever. People stare at them wherever they go. They see a beautiful young couple, so in love, and so devoted to each other that it stirs words from romantic tales of tall southern gentleman and youthful damsels with golden blonde hair.

Soon, it's the twenty first century, and they travel through Washington on their way to Canada. They're racing, darting through the trees when the scent of other vampires hits them. Old instincts come rushing back when a group emerges from the dense trees on the other side of the meadow. Jasper steps in front of Charlotte, to shield his mate from a potential threat and they both crouch defensively. There are seven vampires standing before them. A blonde man and a finely curved woman stand in the middle, leading the group. A red head stands to their left, observing them coolly. A burly man and a breathtaking blonde stand back, regarding Jasper and his battle scars with a mixture of hostility and wariness. The only one to move is a small girl, smaller even, than Charlotte. She pulls with her a dark skinned man, with a long black braid and dark eyes, he smells odd, and it sets the pair even more on edge. Her hair is in inky spikes and her eyes are thousands of years old when she gleefully announces.

"_Finally_. I was beginning to think you two would never get here."

And just like that, they're Cullen's.

They learn that the blonde man – Carlisle – and the soft woman – Esme – are mated, and they welcome them with open arms that bring back such fierce memories of her own parents that Charlotte's throat tightens. Jasper's fingers flex on the small of her back, and she leans into his comfort. The burly man – Emmett – welcomes them as soon as he recognizes a new wrestling challenge in Jasper. His brothers, he claims are unrepentantly boring. Emmet's mate is less welcoming, and Rosalie regards them coolly from across the room, refusing to acknowledge them. The melancholic red head, Edward, remarked that this was her usual behavior. "She'll warm to them eventually! I've seen it!" Alice, the spiky haired psychic chimes from her place at her mate's hip. His name is Nahuel, and his half human half vampire origins are explained to the pair who stares at him in wonder. Nahuel blushes gracefully, yet seems used to their reactions.

The nomadic couple settle into their lives with the vegetarian vampires. Jasper seems oddly forceful and focused on his quest to forego their previous diet, and though Charlotte is not thrilled, she gives up human blood for the sake of her mate's happiness. She knows the troubles Jasper`s gift creates when it comes to feeding, and gladly tries anything to lessen his burdens.

Perhaps one day they'll break off from the Cullen Clan – they've been told of another vegetarian coven in Alaska – or maybe they won't. For now, they are happy, well adjusted and reasonably sated. They had plenty of time – eternity, Charlotte muses – should they decide to travel down a different path.

The path, the destination, and journey remain a mystery, but one aspect is stunningly clear. There will always be two set of footprints, discovering together, _eternally_.


End file.
